Month: October 2012

You’re a What?!?!?

That’s right, I’m officially a Grandpa.  Leland Alan was born at 11:05 pm on October 28th.  He weighed in at 7 lbs 1 oz and measured 20 and a quarter inches long.  I’m happy to report that Leland, mother Nikki, (my daughter) and dad Miles are all doing great.

Here’s how it all went down;

I woke up at about 5:00 Sunday morning to the sound of “Mom, my water broke.”  While this was not totally unexpected, I mean I was aware that big bump in my daughters stomach was a baby, it was my “professional” opinion that the blessed event wasn’t going to happen for a few days yet.  You’re probably wondering  what I had based my professional opinion on.  Like all of my other professional opinions, this one was based on gut instinct.  Ha, gut instinct.  I just realized the joke there.  Anyway, obviously in this case my gut instinct wasn’t worth jack.

My kids are 19 and 23 years old,  it’s been a long time since they were born, so as I lay in bed trying to shake the cob webs out of my head, I tried to remember if the fact that my daughter’s water had broken meant that we had to immediately rush to the hospital.  I secretly hoped that wasn’t the case but from the flurry of activity going on around me I assumed it meant that we did.

I got up, staggered toward my daughter’s room to see if I could help her and my wife with anything, and promptly crashed into my bedroom door.  It not only shocked the hell out of me but also spun me around like I was on some sort of bumper car carnival ride.  The collision turned me back in the direction of my bathroom, I took that as a sign that the ladies didn’t need my help.  Deciding to trust fate, I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth and took my blood pressure medicine.  My run in with the door, now had me thinking clearly enough to realize if there was ever a day I might need the B/P pills it would be today.

It was about 5:30 am, and still pitch black outside when my wife and I left for the hospital.  No, I didn’t forget to bring my daughter, she had already been picked up by her boyfriend.

During the drive, a million things went through my head.  Will the baby be ok?  Will my daughter be ok?  How long will she be in labor?  Does the hospital have good cafeteria food?  Will I be home in time to watch the Bears game?  Only time would tell.

Understanding that it could be a long day, I told my wife that I needed to stop somewhere and pick up a newspaper.  She asked me why I didn’t just take the one that I ran over the car with in our driveway.  I ignored the sarcasm and pulled into a gas station in downtown Rockford where I spotted two people who appeared to be a hooker and her pimp.  I started to worry about being approached for “a date.” What would I do if that happened?  Should I just politely decline or was there some kind of etiquette that needed to be followed when being propositioned.  Some protocol that would require me to explain why I was unavailable as a john at this time.  “I’m sorry ma’am, you see my daughter is having a baby today and, well, ah, I really don’t have the time right now.”  I’m sure they probably wouldn’t care but I preferred to be ready with an answer just in case.

An image that sent chills down my spine flashed through my mind.  I saw the front page of a newspaper;  Man arrested for solicitation on day of grandsons birth.   How bad would that look?   Fortunately the couple completely ignored me and I quickly got the paper, hopped back into the car, and my wife and I proceeded to the hospital.

After the rush of morning activities, the wait for baby to come slowed to a snails pace.  The paper I needed so badly held no interest for me.  The Bear’s game had come and gone and the cafeteria food on a late Sunday afternoon was virtually nonexistent.  I settled on a blueberry pop tart and ice coffee that sat in my stomach like a big piece of ambergris.

Finally after about 18 hours of labor, it was go time.  Boyfriend Miles, and soon to be Grandma Massaro were the only two allowed in the room during delivery.  That left me, my son Anthony, and Leland’s other soon to be grandma Tracy, in the hallway waiting.  I paced the halls of the hospital.  It looked like a scene from some sort of 1960’s movie before dads or anyone other than doctors and nurses were allowed in delivery rooms.

Thankfully the wait was not a long one.  My daughter did a fantastic job.  Only about three pushes and Leland was born.  Words can’t describe being outside that door, hearing your grandsons first cry, then having the doctor come out and say, “They’re both doing great, you can go in now.”

What an unbelievable day.

Gross Profit

I just read an article titled, “British Boy Stumbles Upon Extremely Valuable Whale Vomit.”  Now you have to admit, this is a headline that screams “Read me!”, does it not?  It does. So I did.  You can read it here.

It’s about this 8 year old boy named Charlie who was walking along a beach in Britain when he picked up something that looked like a rock.  I’ll quote some of the story ;

“As it turned out, that object was actually a piece of ambergris, a substance which is regurgitated by sperm whales.  Ambergris is used to prolong the scent of perfume, and therefore is extremely valuable.

The vomit, which weighs a little more than one pound, could be worth as much as $63,000.”

I did some further research and discovered that it is not only used to prolong the scent of perfume but is also used to actually create some perfumes.

I wonder how the use for whale barf was first discovered?  Maybe a ship was at sea, whale hunting, when this big old sperm whale jumped out of the water and puked on one of the sailors.  His buddy looks at him and says, “Hey Sven, you smell pretty.”  Wink wink  (Whalers spent long periods of time away from home.)  It’s possible this incident was not only responsible for discovering the use of ambergris but also, as Sven’s pal found out, how the practice of walking the plank began.

Anyway, here’s what bothers me about this story.  (The little British boy story, not the sailor story.  Although I have to admit that my sailor story is somewhat disturbing too.)  When my son was little, he used to collect rocks for me.  He started giving me rocks when he was about 4 years old.  Like any loving parent I was touched and would make a big deal out of what he had found.  I would say things like, “Thanks son, that one is beautiful!”  He enjoyed receiving the compliments and it became a routine.  He’d give me rocks and, I’d make a big deal out of it.  In the beginning he was really careful about the rocks he gave me.  He would actually search for ones that were unique.  But at some point he began to get a little less particular about what he picked up.  He started giving me hunks of broken sidewalk concrete and driveway asphalt for my “collection.  Because I love him dearly, I refrained from saying, “Hey son, I must say that really is quite a piece of crap you gave me there.  But thanks anyway.”

Here’s the thing.  With all of the rocks, concrete, and asphalt he gave me, he never found one piece of whale vomit that we could turn a profit on.  Not one!

I can just hear all of you now, “C’mon Dale give the kid a break.  How could he possibly find whale vomit in Belvidere?  Have you ever seen a whale or for that matter a  body of water bigger than the Kishwaukee River anywhere near your house?”

OK, fine, I suppose if you want to get technical that’s true.  The last time I saw anything even remotely resembling a whale was this past summer when I was getting out of my pool and caught a reflection of myself in the patio doors.  But we’ll discuss that later when I post my, “Note to self; Need to lose a few pounds.” article.

The point is…… Oh hell, I don’t even know what the point is.  What I do know is that if I read another story about someone making money because they stubbed their toe on a hunk of whale vomit, I’m gonna throw up.

 

NOC, The Talking Whale

Please take a minute to listen to the newscast I have linked Here

If you didn’t feel like reading the article that accompanied the newscast just yet, I’ll point out some highlights.

The article begins;   “Imagine the surprise among researchers when they discovered that what appeared to have been a human conversation near the beluga whale enclosure was actually the voice of the captive mammal. The accompanying audio clip is a sample of the whale’s mimicry of human speech, and it’s sure to inspire smiles, laughter, disbelief, or even awe among listeners.”

Call me cynical, but I have to admit that I’m not completely convinced that this is, as the article states, “Spontaneous human speech mimicry by a cetacean.”  I blame myself though.  I realize now that I was being overly optimistic when I clicked on the link.  I had wanted so badly to actually hear the whale speaking.  I thought maybe I would hear him say something like, “Hungry, need more fish.” or “Damn, this water’s cold.”  I hadn’t prepared myself for “Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo. doo, doo, doo.”  And now, because NOC passed away in 2007 we can’t even ask him what he meant by that.

The article also stated that “a human diver told researchers he had heard what sounded like a request to get out of the water. The voice turned out to be from NOC, which had formed the word “out” and repeated that word several times while the diver was in the water.”

So NOC had learned to mimic human voices but hadn’t learned that if he got out of the water he would die?  Very sad.  Apparently whales, like so many highly intelligent humans, are book smart but common sense stupid.  The article doesn’t mention how he passed away so I wonder if the diver honored NOC’s request and removed him from the water.  Or maybe the diver completely misunderstood the whale.  I can see it now, NOC lying on dry ground uttering his last words.  “I didn’t say out, I said doo, doo, doo.”

The article went on, “NOC lived among dolphins and socialized with two female belugas. His spontaneous mimicry of human voices subsided after about four years, when he became sexually mature.”

OK, this is the one thing that makes perfect sense.  He was hanging out with two chick whales and realized after four years they weren’t paying attention to a single doo he said, so he just stopped doo-ing.  Come on guys, it happens to all of us.

But, maybe my favorite part comes at the end of the newscast when the female reporter says, “But look, he’s like moving his mouth.”  I can’t figure out if she’s amazed that the whale is “talking” or disappointed that while NOC has supposedly learned to mimic people he hasn’t yet been able to master the art of ventriloquism.  Stupid no talent whale, I can see his lips moving.

So tell me, what do you think?  Am I being too critical?  Was I expecting too much?

Is NOC really talking or is this all just a bunch of doo doo?

Honey Boo Boo

If you are not familiar with the TV show “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo,” you may want to watch an episode and then come back to this post:

I have to admit that I’ve enjoyed sitting back and watching the Honey Boo Boo phenomenon unfold.  I mean who doesn’t secretly like things that make your mouth drop open and cause you to say to yourself, “What in the hell was that all about?!?”  It’s one of the reasons we have to deal with gaper blocks when there’s a car pulled over on the side of the road.  We slowly drive by and stare as a cop is telling the driver to place his hands on the hood of his car and “Spread em!!”

In a nut shell, train wrecks fascinate us.  As long as we aren’t directly involved.

What has really interested me is seeing the “celebrities” who have come out and talked about how wonderful little Honey Boo Boo Child is.  Celebrities like RuPaul the famous drag queen who wants to sing a duet with Honey and stated, “She is real. She is lovely. She’s funny. She doesn’t take herself seriously. The whole family doesn’t take themselves seriously. It’s really just good fun. I love anybody who dances to the beat of a different drummer.”  Obviously, and so do I Ru.  I just don’t love 7 year old brats.  And by the way, I haven’t met a lot of 7 year olds who take themselves very seriously, so I don’t think that makes her very unique.

Or Miley Cyrus who told Chelsea Handler, “Oh my God, since you saw me last, I put in a home theater in my house, and then it wasn’t quite loud enough, so we got subwoofers,” So, I can really hear [Honey Boo Boo] extra loud.”  For some reason I’m not surprised that Miley is so attracted to youngsters with little talent.

But my favorite is Rosie O’Donnell who said, “This is really revolutionary TV in a way most people won’t understand.”  Ok Rosie, so most of us aren’t as intellectual as you are, consequently Honey Boo Boo is much too complex for us to comprehend.  Got it.   She went on to say “[Honey] is like Shirley Temple, she has a presence and an intellect that goes way beyond her years.”  Really? Somehow I missed that.  It makes me wonder if Rosie knows anything about Shirley Temple other than “Animal Crackers in My Soup?”

O’Donnell likes the family so much that she wants to pay to have Honey’s family home renovated. The Boo Boo family isn’t asking her to, she just wants to do it out of the goodness of her heart.   And by the way, she also wants to make it into a Christmas special called, “Rosie O’Donnell and Honey Boo Boo’s Renovation.”  Hmmmm, nothing like jumping on the Boo Boo bandwagon.

The show is doing so well that TLC, the network which airs “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo,” has just given the family members an increase, depending on which article you read, anywhere between $20,000 an $40,000 an episode.  You may now be wondering why they would need anyone to pay for their home renovation.  Oh that’s right, the Christmas special.

So some “celebrities” would like us to believe the popularity is due to the fact that Honey Boo Boo is the next Shirley Temple on this “revolutionary” show.

I happen to think the reason is much simpler than that.  I think the sad truth is that we enjoy laughing at and looking down on people who we don’t consider to be as “sophisticated” as we are.  When Honey Boo Boo’s mom June makes her family’s favorite dish, Sketti, which is a mixture of butter and ketchup microwaved and poured over noodles we laugh at them, not with them.  How do I know we’re laughing at them?  Because they’re not laughing!  They don’t think there is anything funny about just making dinner.

And when June gives Honey her Go Go Juice, a mixture of Mountain Dew and Red Bull, in order to pep her up for one of her kiddie pageants, we feel better about ourselves because we know we would never do that to one of our kids.

This is where television has been going for the last ten years.  Someone needs to tell the Rosie O’Donnell’s of the world that it’s not revolutionary, it’s reality.

 

Edward 40 Hands

A few weeks ago while looking at my sons Facebook page, I became familiar with a game that is apparently popular at college campuses across the country.  The name of the game is Edward 40 Hands, also known as 80 Ounces to Freedom.

The Edward 40 Hands name is a takeoff on the 1990 movie Edward Scissor Hands, directed by Tim Burton and staring Johnny Depp as a young man who happens to have scissors for hands, and falls in love with a beautiful teenage girl played by Winona Ryder.

The rules of the game Edward 40 Hands are simple;

1. Have a friend duct tape a 40 oz bottle of beer to each of your hands.

2. Nobody can remove the bottles from their hands until they’re finished drinking all 80 ounces of beer.

Because the purpose of drinking games are to get drunk and make an ass out of yourself, the rules are normally not very complex, and this game certainly fits into that category.  Heck, it would take longer to learn how to play Candy Land.

Knowing I would be visiting my son and meeting his friends at college on Saturday for Dad’s Weekend, I started to wonder if this game would be played and if so, should I join in on the fun.  No matter how old your kids are, you still like to come off as the cool parent.

Making the three hour drive to Western Illinois University gave me a lot of time to ponder the question of whether I should act like one of the “guys” which I clearly no longer am.  Or act like a dad the way I am supposed to act.  I didn’t just ponder, I talked to myself;

Smart Me: So what are we going to do after we play golf with Anth today?

Stupid Me: Probably just hang out in his dorm or maybe go to a bar.

Smart Me: What if they ask us to play that Edward 40 Hands Game?

Stupid Me: We’ll probably play.

Smart Me: We don’t even like beer that much.

Stupid Me: We’ll deal with it.  Coors light isn’t too bad.

Smart Me: You know beer gives us a headache.

Stupid Me: Stop being such a wuss!  We’ll take an aspirin!

Smart Me: And what about our bladder?  It’s like the size of a pea!  We drink two Diet Pepsi’s and we’re running to the bathroom!  How are we going to stop from wetting ourself when we have two 40 oz bottles of beer taped to our hands and no way to unzip?  This is just great, I can see it now.  We have to go so bad that we drunkenly stumble up to one of Anthony’s friends and slur something like, ” Cun you peeease pull down my zippler.  My hands are full.”  Next thing you know we’re being hauled off by campus security and we find ourselves in front of some night court judge who’s saying that stupidity and drunkenness is no excuse for a 57 year old man to apparently proposition a 19 year old co-ed.  The students change the name of the game from Edward 40 Hands to the, “Anthony’s Dad Peed on Himself and Got Thrown in Jail for Leud Conduct” game.  Our son is so ashamed that he has to transfer to a different school and we have to register as a sex offender.  That will make for a great weekend won’t it?!?!?

Fast forward to Saturday night;

Anthony: Golfing was fun dad.  What would you like to do tonight?

Me:  Why don’t we order a pizza and watch some football.

Good Me:  Thatta Boy.

Bad Me: Why don’t you shut up.

Blogging

I have been blogging for 47 days now.  During that time I have submitted 20 posts for an average of one post every 2.35 days.  Between job hunting and watching reruns of Bonanza I have still managed to stay fairly close to my goal of posting every other day.

I have 22 subscribers who have posted (including my responses) 70 comments.  Thank you all.

Over the last 30 days I have received over 900 hits to my web site.  I have no idea if this is a lot, a little, or average and have no desire to find out.

I started blogging for a few reasons.  I enjoy writing, I knew I would need something else to keep me occupied while I looked for work, and I guess like most who blog, I would like it to attract a lot of readers.  That is why I normally share my posts on Facebook, in order to let people know I have written something and hopefully get them to visit my site.

Because I have begun to feel somewhat embarrassed about “Liking” my own blog on Facebook, I’ve decided for the most part to discontinue doing that beginning with this post.  While I know this will greatly affect how many visits I  get to my page, my hope is that you all will still continue to visit.  However, if I can find a way to share my posts without “liking” them I will continue to do that.

For those of you who have already subscribed, please make sure you have entered your email address and are receiving notifications of when I have submitted a new post.

If you are one of many who have been reading my blog but not subscribed, I encourage you to do that.

And if anyone feels moved to “Like” me on Facebook at anytime, I would certainly appreciate it.

In any case, it is easy enough to find me at dalemassaro.com

 

Thanks,

Dale

 

Reading Between the Labels

One positive I’ve taken from not working is that it has given me time to do some reading.  I’ve never been an avid reader, possibly because so often my attention span is about the same as that of a two month old Rottweiler.  Many times I have started a book, gotten bored, and never finished, so I made up my mind to dive into a good series. Something like James Patterson’s Alex Cross books. “Along Came a Spider”, “Kiss the Girls”, “Jack and Jill.”

Then one morning as I was about to begin my journey into the wonderful world of books, something caught my eye, it was the cereal box.  To be more specific, the Cream of Wheat box.  It said, “Enzyme treated for quicker cooking”  I had no idea what that meant but I kept reading, “1 minute cook time.”  I was fascinated.  I wondered how long it had taken to cook this hot cereal before they treated it with the enzymes.  I couldn’t put the Cream of Wheat down, and before I knew it I had read the entire box in one sitting.  That’s when I knew I was hooked on consumer product labels.

Don’t laugh.  The labels can be informative, thought provoking and sometimes even funny.  It’s just like reading a book except it doesn’t take as long.  I can make it through a frozen pizza box before the pizza’s even out of the oven!  Sometimes the labels are like a mystery novel.  You find yourself asking, “What is this company really trying to say?”

Here are some examples;

Product — “Label” — What the manufacturer might actually be saying

Supreme Tamales — “Remove wrapper before serving” — Our customers are too stupid to figure this out for themselves and we’re afraid of being sued.

Flat Out Flat Bread — “New Improved taste” — We know it didn’t taste very good before, but it’s better now.  Really!!

Great Value No Stick Cooking Spray — “A 1 second spray covers a 10 inch skillet” — We realize this is useless information but we needed to fill space on the can.

Suave Volumizing Root Boost Spray — “Caution: Do not spray in eyes” — We tried it. It really stings!  (And if your wondering why I would be reading about hair care products, you have a valid question)

Yoplait Yogurt — “Contains Live and active cultures” — You probably have no clue what that means, but trust us, nothing says yum like live and active cultures!

Jack Daniels Gourmet Coffee — “To further enhance the taste, add a splash of Jack Danial’s” — We’ve found that makes not only our coffee more tolerable, but lots of other things too.

Pillsbury Grands Biscuits — “For safe opening, point can ends away from you and others” — You’ll shoot your eye out.

Red Bull — “Stimulates the metabolism” — Have you ever watched a dog chase its tail?  It’s kind of like that only funnier.

Olay Foaming Face Wash — “mousse nettoyante pour le visage” — Ha! We know French and you don’t.

Listerine — “If bad breath persists, see your dentist” — It’s your problem now, not ours.

Now put down that silly book and start doing some real reading!  I want to know what you find!!

 

Happy Halloween?

I think we have lost our imagination and our sense of what is fun.

I just viewed a video on Yahoo which was intended to help parents save money on outfitting their children for Halloween. One of the things it suggested was that you avoid shopping at the pop up stores. These are the places that open only during Halloween, specializing in costumes and decorations. Their prices are much higher because they are only open a couple of months during the year. The video also talked about buying at “on line” costume stores and also on E bay. A woman being interviewed on the video said that sometimes you can save up to 50% by purchasing last years costumes. She stated, for popular costumes like pirates or princesses, manufacturers make very minor changes from year to year, so no one will notice that you have purchased last years model.  I thought she was kidding but she seemed very serious when she said it. She never even cracked a smile.

It’s been quite a few years since my kids have worn Halloween costumes so apparently I was unaware of the stigma attached to being seen in a 2011 Halloween costume in 2012.

It struck me as odd that nowhere in the video did it talk about saving money by making your own costume. Does anyone remember those days?  When it used to be a fun project for the whole family to work on….TOGETHER.

For us boys, mom would find an old pair of pants, ones that she was probably going to get rid of anyway.  She would let you cut the bottom of the legs with a scissors to make them look tattered. Then she would find one of her old scarfs she wasn’t going to miss and tie it around your head like a bandana. Dad would wrap a rope around your waste as a belt and then, to top off the outfit, would burn a cork till it was charred and rub it on your face to make it look like you had a beard. Now you were a pirate.

A girl might get one of moms dresses hemmed and pinned to ‘almost’ fit.  A pair of high heels that were three sizes too big, and a homemade cutout cardboard tiara that she would  cover in aluminum foil.  Then, this one day during the year, she would be allowed to wear makeup, lipstick and everything!  Now she was a princess.

We would look in the mirror and the whole family would have a good laugh….TOGETHER.

When my son was about 4 or 5 years old I made a robot costume for him.  A box covered in tin foil to go over his body, was then decorated with stove knobs and little lights.  A smaller box also covered in foil went on his head.  I took an old section of dryer vent and cut it into four separate pieces for his arms and legs.  My son liked it because it was shiny.  I liked it because we had fun making it.  And my wife liked it because it was a costume big enough to wear a coat underneath so he wouldn’t get cold when he was outside.  Fortunately moms think of those kinds of things, because dads don’t.

I have to admit that the costume looked pretty cool.  There was one little problem however.  When we got to the first house to trick or treat, we discovered that the robot suit was too bulky for my son to walk up the steps of the houses.  He could walk from house to house just fine, he just couldn’t navigate the steps.  Because of this design flaw, at every house we stopped, he had to be carried to the door. We still laugh about it today.

The point is, we didn’t make a bad costume that Halloween, we made a good memory.

Seems like nowadays people make less memories and more trips to the Halloween store.

 

Pain-ting

In my quest to find a new career, I am happy to report that I’ve eliminated a few more possibilities this week.  Along with Navy Seal, because I have exceeded the age limit by a mere 29 years plus the fact that I don’t particularly care for water, and Airline Pilot, due to the minor technicality of not knowing how to fly an airplane, the occupation of  Painter has also bitten the dust.

Not painter as in Rembrandt or Van Gogh, I still haven’t completely ruled that out yet.  I saw a guy on TV the other night who threw a bunch of paint on a canvass, smeared it around with his hands and called it art.  I still think I might have a shot at that if I can convince enough people that it is not something their five year old could have accomplished in kindergarten during Finger Painting 101.

No, I am talking about house painter.  Inside, outside, all around the house painter.  I don’t foresee this becoming my next full time job.  If I tried to make a living at it I can almost guarantee that at some point in time you would turn on your television and see me as a defendant on an episode of Judge Judy.  Some poor schmuck would be holding up a picture of his house screaming, “Look what he did!!!”  Judge Judy would get that disgusted look on her face and say, “Mr Massaro, is this your work?  It looks like you tried teaching a drunken monkey how to paint with a fly swatter.”  I would of course have no defense because I agree my painting looks like crap.  Judge Judy would have no choice but to yell, “Judgement for the plaintiff!”, slam her gavel down, call for the next case, and I would be out a few thousand bucks.

Even I know that you can’t make a decent living losing thousands of dollars on every job.

Why I’m no good at painting is a mystery to me.  I might be no good at it because I hate doing it or I might hate doing it because I am no good at it.  Either way, I would rather run an auger through my temple than paint.

If you feel the same way, here are a few things I have learned that may help make your painting experience more tolerable.  Not enjoyable, noooo, it will never be enjoyable, but maybe more tolerable.

When you have finished mixing the paint and are ready to begin, make sure the first thing you do is step on the paint can lid.  I have found that regardless of where I place the lid, I will at some point step on it anyway, so I like to do it purposely at the beginning of the job in order to get that step out of the way immediately.

Use the largest brush or roller you can find.  The key word here is coverage.  Cover as much area as possible in the shortest amount of time.  If you’re more concerned with neatness than speed, which we painter haters are not, then use a calligraphy pen.

Finally, paint in short bursts.  Your mental as well as physical health depends on it.  We all have different breaking points, and it is important that you find yours.  In other words, if you can only stand painting for one hour at a time before wanting to throw yourself in front of a bus, make sure you are not in the middle of painting your second story windows when the magic 60 minute mark arrives.  I’ve personally found that at about 35 minutes that little voice in my head starts saying, “Get the auger.”  That’s how I know when to put my big brush down and take a break.

I hope these tips help you.  And if you’re thinking about hiring someone to do the job for you, remember, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.  Except when it comes to painting.